


you can't use me up

by loveandwarandmagick



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, M/M, POV Andrew Minyard, References to Canon, Soft Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, a tad bit of angst, but it's andreil solo, do andreil snuggle ?, few references to other characters, just a sprinkling of sad, the boys learn to be intimate, why is that an official tag but 'cuddling' isn't pls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:55:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27663688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveandwarandmagick/pseuds/loveandwarandmagick
Summary: heavily based on mary glenn'slullabyandreil learns to cuddle. that's literally all.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 30
Kudos: 288





	you can't use me up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jostens_pitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jostens_pitch/gifts).



> hey y'all, i don't have another chapter of martyrs out yet (absolutely SWAMPED with school work) BUT i have this soft little thing
> 
> everyone say thank you makayla (@jostens_pitch) she's quite lovely and chose fluff over an angsty scene, so now y'all get sweetness
> 
> *tw for canon references* but it's very very mild (lots of scar talk, and one reference to andrew's past

It isn’t a new thing. Being close.

Andrew knows what it’s like to be close to Neil - sharing the same seat on the bus, washing dishes side by side, pushing the same cart when they go grocery shopping. He knows what it’s like to hold Neil’s hand, only when they’re surrounded by heavy crowds, so if Neil pulls too far away, Andrew still has a hold on him. 

After home games, Neil waits for everyone to leave the locker room and they share a shower, trading kisses and gasping into each other’s mouth after an impatient yes, heavy hands wandering lower, always together now. 

They’ve shared a bed before multiple times, on good nights - and nearly every night is a good night now. The bad ones have become so infrequent that Andrew’s extra shaken when they come, the shock of it hitting harder than the memory.

 _Memory_ was Neil’s suggestion, a reminder that the past has passed. 

_Past has passed_ is Bee’s phrase, and once Neil had borrowed it sarcastically, it softened into something he says on the bad days. Something for Andrew.

But this. Being close with the intent of being closer. This is new, in a way that lights Andrew’s blood on fire. He’s not sure if it’s excitement or anxiety, can’t tell which weighs more as he thinks it over. 

Neil sits on one corner of the bed, blinking slowly, breathing even slower. A testament to his comfort, since he’s always breathing just a touch too fast, heart skipping away. Always on edge, except for when it’s he and Andrew alone. They’re in Columbia for the weekend, not a single person in the house, which means Neil’s heart is steady. 

Andrew wants to feel it under his palm, against his wrist. Somehow, Neil must know it. 

“We don’t have to,” is all he says though, because even he, under his transparency, can see that Andrew is equal parts fear and anticipation. 

“Don’t be an idiot,” Andrew says, hoping for a touch of cruelty to settle him down. Neil offers it, rolling his eyes to restore the normalcy of the moment. The air in the room feels less heavy, all of a sudden.

“I’m just saying. It’s a no as soon as you say so.” 

“It’s not a no.” 

“But it can be,” Neil argues. Andrew, feeling his heart beat in his throat, nods his head to keep from speaking. 

It takes them a moment to move, and when they do, it’s Andrew reaching out first. The lack of light in the room makes it easier to be closer, blurring the lines of contact. Shadows hide what’s skin and what isn’t, making each touch a surprise. Neil lays still while Andrew reaches for him, hands deliberate and still brushing accidentally when he can’t quite make out the lines of Neil’s body. 

“Shirt off, yes or no?” 

Neil raises an eyebrow. Andrew can barely see it in the amber light from the street. 

“Not for sex. Just so I can see.” 

_I need to see that it’s you_ , Andrew doesn’t say. Neil’s scars. _Memories_ , he says on the bad days when his eyes don’t quite focus all the way. Andrew wants to burn the world down on those days, wants to dig up every last person who’s ever touched him and burn them too. 

Neil reaches down to grab the hem of it and Andrew sits back on his heels to give him space. 

“Can I touch you?” Andrew asks. Neil says yes, sounding sure even with his voice thinner than a whisper. 

“Okay,” Andrew whispers back, needing to fill the silence. Closer now, he can see the definition of the ridges on Neil’s back - the iron scar, circular raised edges in even lines on his shoulder. Andrew lets his hands wander, touching firmly enough so that Neil feels it. 

“Andrew,” he says, and Andrew pulls back immediately, wrist shaking with nervous energy. 

“Would you take off your shirt too?” he asks. This close, face tilted towards the light, Neil’s eyes are vibrant, glow in the dark blue. Bright like the sky at nine a.m., like Andrew’s favorite time of day. No one's ever believed him when he says it, if they ask at all.

When he’d told Neil, he’d frowned and asked why, then admitted he preferred the nighttime. 

Andrew takes off his shirt. 

“Thank you,” Neil says hushedly. Andrew clenches his jaw hard against the reflexive response working its way out his throat. This - new and terrifying, feeling raw in his body like he’s just stepped into the ocean and swallowed a mouthful of saltwater - is something he doesn’t want to ruin.

Neil breathes evenly even when Andrew’s hand splays against his ribs, feeling along the muscles of his abdomen, tracing the uneven scars that reach from the top of his rib to the bottom of his stomach. Once Andrew finds the material of Neil’s shorts, he pulls his hand back up, ignoring the trembling in his fingers. His hand trails up, palm resting where he can feel Neil’s heartbeat the strongest, just under the muscle on his chest. 

“Are you okay?” Neil asks, breathing steady still. His voice trembles only at the end of his words. There’s nothing fearful about the lines of his body though. Andrew holds his breath anyway. Neil repeats the question. 

“Fine,” Andrew manages, through grit teeth, trying so hard not to let his fear pop the bubble that they’ve built for themselves. 

“Hey,” Neil says, turning slowly so he’s on his back. “Andrew. We don’t have to.”

“I know we don’t,” he bites out, feeling on edge. This shouldn’t be a problem - not now, not after all the kisses and the touching. Letting Neil touch him back, finally, after so long. Not after Neil’s hands have a place in his hair without the question being asked, lips finding their way effortlessly to the base of Andrew’s jaw and not a single feeling that isn’t _good_ and _safe_ and _Neil._

This, sharing a bed, being close like this. None of it should be a problem. 

Neil sits up, echoing Andrew’s stiffened position. At this angle, his entire head catches the light from the street, turning him ethereal. Neil is the furthest thing from delicate, but there’s something undoubtedly otherworldly about him in this moment, too close to the dream sight that Andrew was convinced was a product of his drugs. 

He can help it, prides himself on self control if nothing else, but he doesn’t hold back. The words fall from his mouth like shooting stars, burning up in the air between them. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes, a bit too disbelieving, and Neil’s eyes soften just the slightest bit with fondness. Andrew tries not to focus on the touch of sadness behind his gaze, knowing well enough that Neil can read Andrew’s skepticism better than anyone. 

“We can try it,” Neil starts, shuffling back. “Can I try it?” 

“Try what?” 

“Just what you were doing. To me, but to you.” 

“You want me turned around.” It’s not a question, but Andrew tries hard not to make it sound so heavy.

Neil nods, looking something like nervous for the first time in all the time Andrew’s known him. His brow furrows, face collapsing under the heavy breath he takes, and Andrew stares, waiting him out. It takes another moment, a touch of Neil staring him down before the expression is replaced again by surety, fire burning behind his eyes. 

“Okay,” Andrew says finally, shifting slowly so that he’s on his back. “Just like this for now.” 

Neil nods, lifting his hand just as slow and placing it along Andrew’s cheek. This isn’t new. Neil’s hands have become familiar with the features of Andrew’s face, have mapped out all his favorite spots - the mole under Andrew’s left eye, the scar on his jaw from when he cut his face open on a bottle trying to twist the cap off with his teeth. 

Andrew can’t close his eyes no matter how good it feels. That’s what makes it miserable. 

“Say something,” he whispers, as Neil’s hands dart down to the slope of his neck, all palm and not a trace of fingers. _Fingers_ , Andrew had told him once, _can be too sharp_. 

“Like what?” Neil whispers back. His palm flattens on Andrew’s shoulder, a light cup. Andrew’s eyes flutter shut just for a moment at the sound of his voice. 

“Something so I know it’s you.”

“It is me, Andrew. Nobody else.” 

“I know,” he sighs, twisting up into Neil’s firm touch. His palms are warm, calloused and strong and Andrew believes it. He knows it’s Neil, in the way that he knows it’s safe here in this moment. It’s the body that harbors it all, tension that he can’t fight down all the way. It makes him angry, burns up inside him like all the horrible things that have ever happened. 

“I hate this,” he says finally, grabbing Neil’s hand and rubbing over his scarred knuckles to keep him close. 

“I know,” Neil says, because he knows that Andrew means the past, and that even if it's gone, it's still so alive.

Slowly, slowly, Andrew turns one shoulder down, then the other. 

“Talk to me, Neil.”

“What do I say, Drew?”

That - the nickname - is one of the oldest things they’ve had. Not new, not for a long time. 

It still makes something warm bloom under Andrew’s skin, like flowers after the winter. Like coming inside on a cold day and seeing Neil under the blanket in their bed, shared sometimes but not always. Like staring down the sun and finding the word _hope_ in his head, a million times over.

Neil falls in besides him, slow. Carefully, switching between quiet humming noises that are vaguely songlike and random messy spills of words. 

_“Did you know that Matt almost asked Dan to marry him the other day? He chickened out before he got the ring, though.”_ _  
_

_“_ _Wouldn’t it be really fucked up if the zombie apocalypse started right now?”_

_"The world record for most exy shots blocked on goal is 117. I think you could beat that when we kick the Ravens’ ass again.”_

He tries not to roll his eyes at that last one.

Andrew keeps his eyes wide open, watching the shadows dance along the walls and letting Neil’s voice douse them in light. He’s always been thinner in the shoulders, lithe and strong. Andrew watches the muscles in his arms shift as he lays down behind him. 

Neil says, “Drew,” like he knows it’s the safest thing to call him right now. 

Andrew responds, “Neil,” because it’s the truth, the safest thing for either of them. 

And Andrew, for all the times he’s been held down, has never been held before. 

Slowly, like syrup, like rain when it first starts to fall, Neil wraps an arm around him. His hand splays out just over Andrew’s heart, the pulse thrumming against the inside of Neil’s wrist. He comes up with a bit of space between them, careful to leave their bottom halves separate.

“Okay?” Neil murmurs against Andrew’s neck, and Andrew manages a nod. 

“This is nice, right?” 

“Shut up, Neil.” 

He laughs, the sound coming out on a heavy breath that Andrew feels hot against his skin. “I thought you wanted me to keep talking.” 

“I know it’s you,” Andrew says, easing his muscles into something more settled. He shuts his eyes for a second, then again for two. He makes it up to five before his hand flies up to trace the circle scars on Neil’s knuckles, proof of death and life all at once. 

“Is this okay?” he asks again, and Andrew nods, again. 

Neil, taught to see everything all the time, is constantly watching, always gauging moods. 

Here, where Andrew doesn’t have to let a single person see, he can smile. 

He hides it under his hand, a thin, tremulous thing. Trying it on for the first time in years, in a moment where it’s real - not pulled upwards by the strings of hallucinogens and mood stabilizers. 

Another moment. Two, then three. 

It’s not unbearable, not at all. It’s nice. That’s all Andrew can say about it. And then:

“Can we try it,” Neil whispers against the back of his neck. Andrew shudders, willing away his desire for more and focusing entirely on Neil’s words. It’s only then that he realizes he’s been brushing the back of Neil’s knuckles with his fingers, and he’s stunned for a moment by how careless he’d gotten. 

“Try what?” 

Neil nudges his nose against the back of Andrew’s head. “Try it like before.”

“Like with me on you?” 

Neil huffs another laugh. “Not on me. But the way I’m with you.” 

Andrew turns his head just enough to make eye contact, feeling Neil’s arms loosen around him to accommodate the movement. 

“You want to?” 

Neil flushes so hard that even in the dark it’s visible. “We don’t have to.”

“You want to,” Andrew argues, and Neil nods and says. “But we don’t have to.”

“We can. Turn around, yes or no?”

“Yes,” he whispers back, shifting onto his side to allow Andrew the space behind him. 

This time it’s easier, Andrew slipping in behind Neil and focusing on the glint of his hair in the streetlight, amber and copper all at once. Andrew suspects that his hair was the biggest reason he’d assumed Neil was a hallucination, too many bad dye jobs turning each strand different shades of red. In the moonlight on the roof, he’d turned into a kaleidoscope, too bright to look at on the drugs, and too much to look away from when he’d gotten off of them. 

“Neil,” Andrew says, sliding his arm firmly across his chest, refusing to pull back. He’s not hurting him, he _won’t_ hurt him, not ever. 

“I’m fine, Andrew.” He amends the word choice quickly, realizing his mistake. “I’m okay. This is okay.” 

Andrew’s never learned to be gentle. But with Neil, he tries. 

“Tell me something,” he whispers, and Neil starts again. 

“I used to sleep with my mom like this. But this is different because you’re warm and she wasn’t, and also because you’re my boyfriend and she was my mom. And we’re not doing it to keep from being killed in the middle of the night. So it’s different actually.” 

“Neil.” 

“I killed the mood, huh?” he laughs, the sound flowing so loosely today that Andrew huffs out something close to a laugh too, one arm tightening around Neil’s chest and the other around his stomach. He buries his face in Neil’s neck, testing his smile again against the skin there, willing Neil to notice the curve of his mouth so he doesn’t have to draw attention to it himself. 

_Look at me,_ Andrew imagines himself saying. _So much for joyless._ And then the unspoken softness of him that stays locked away until the day vulnerability doesn’t remind him of sharp teeth would say: 

_Look at what you’ve done to me._

Neil notices everything, though, so he doesn’t have to say any of that. And Neil’s never been good at keeping his mouth shut anyway.

“Andrew Minyard, are you _smiling_?” 

There’s another laugh caught behind his teeth, and Andrew falls all over again for this Neil, an addition to the person he calls home. This Neil is warm against him, heart thrumming fast against his fingertips and laughter spilling free from him like it’s nothing. 

The world slows and Andrew keeps smiling, smiles harder despite the way it aches in his cheeks. 

It’s nothing like the false smile he’d worn before, before the drugs and after them too. Sarcastic and ironic and too big, making his face ache every night as he was falling asleep. This smile feels like sunlight, like the word _hope_ spinning in his head. 

Like Neil, warm and bright and scintillating, sending Andrew’s rationality skidding in every direction. 

Even when the smile fades, he’s still holding Neil close to his chest, bravery catching him and giving him the strength to tangle their legs. 

And for an hour, or two, or the eternity that they’re there, all Andrew can think is _lucky._

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading lovelies !! i appreciate every single one of y'all, n' i hope everyone's staying safe ! remember to wear a mask & take precautions my loves <3


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